Conquered by the Mafia Boss

It’s for her own good. If she knew where I’d gone, she would tell him, and then I’d be dead. The flashing blue light illuminating the depths of my purse sends another wave of sickness through my body. I end the call, but it’s no use. He just calls again. Voice mail after voice mail pops onto the screen, until finally I shut the damn thing off and settle into my seat.

“Any coffee, miss?” The train conductor tries to stifle a gasp at the look of my face. “Ma’am, are you all right?”

Not really.

Her face crinkles with sympathy as I just stare at her. “I fell down.” I’ve no energy to summon a less lame excuse. “Ice would be great.”

“Of course, yes.”

Stares from the other passengers just make me want to throw a hood over my face.

Montreal. I wonder what it’ll be like. I know French is the official language there, and I’m a bit worried about getting by. I place my hand against the windowpane, the cold stinging my skin. I’m probably not dressed for the harsh Canadian weather. I just grabbed whatever I had-a single wool coat, some shirts and jeans, panties, etc. No matter. With the money I have, I’ll be able to buy everything I need.

“Elena, honey. I’ve got something to show you.”

That gleam in Dad’s eyes sent a thrill of excitement through my chest. He always treated me differently than the other guys’ daughters. I was a bit rougher around the edges than Maria, a bit more tomboyish. Once, he brought me to the woods to shoot the new assault rifle he got as a gift. He taught me how to use it. Mom hated it. “She’s not a boy,” she’d say over and over.

I expected it would be something like that as I followed him outside. It was a crisp spring day. He placed both hands on my shoulders and squeezed them.

“I’m going to show you something that you need to keep secret. Don’t tell anyone, even your mother.”

I nodded my head rapidly, eyes wide. Whatever it was, it sounded important. He wrapped his arm around me and led me down the property. We passed the dying pomegranate bushes and stood over the red mulch, hidden by two evergreen trees.

“Underneath this mulch, between these two trees, I’ve got about a hundred grand buried. I want you to dig it up in case anything happens to me-”

My biggest fear slammed into my chest as if I’d been tackled. Without him, I was nothing. I knew that.

“Dad, what are you saying? Did something happen?”

He held up a hand, smiling. “No-I’m just telling you in case, you know, I get sent to the can. Or God forbid, I get killed-”

“Don’t say that!”

“This money is for you, Elena. You and your mom. Promise me, you’ll take it if something happens.”

Speechless, I watched his eyes crease as he squeezed my shoulders again.

“Promise!”

“Okay, Daddy.”

The whole time, he knew he was going away. He was already in talks with the FBI-they were going to relocate us, and then he was dead. Overnight I went from Mafia princess to Daughter of Miserable, Cock-sucking FBI Informant.

Dad filled me with so much hot air growing up that I never believed he could die. He was a boss. New York City fit into the palm of his hand. I went to many charity dinners with him, and even met the mayor and the chief of police. In the end, all of his connections weren’t enough to save him.

You’re fleeing to Montreal. Then what? Kill him, and you can never return to New York.

I can’t think of the future. All I can think of is right now, and the man lusting for my blood.

Eight hours into the ride, I turn the phone back on because I can’t take it anymore. There’s a stream of violent, expletive-laden texts. Only one makes my breath catch in my throat.

I know where you went, and I’m coming to get you. I’m going to fuck that cunt of yours until you bleed, and then I’ll kill you.

It’s a bluff. It has to be a bluff. I told no one where I was going, and used a fake name to book the hotel. Paid everything with cash. There’s no way he knows.

I walk the icy, crumbling Montreal streets, horribly underdressed in the freezing weather. It doesn’t matter. I block everything out. Cold? Who the fuck cares about cold? I have a psychopath hot for my blood, a spurned ex-lover who wants me dead. God, what if he found me with another man?

He doesn’t contact me for a week, and I spend the time hiding out in a hotel, nursing my injuries and working up the courage to meet the Montreal boss.

So much is riding on this meeting with Johnny that I instantly crush the doubts that keep floating to the surface. He has to do this for me. He will.

My life depends on it.

I open the door to Le Zinc. It’s a wonderful, posh place and I instantly feel uncomfortable and underdressed. The hostess immediately takes my ragged coat, but stops at the sight of my face.

“Miss, you need a hospital?” she asks in a thick French accent.

“No,” I say in a hurried voice, ignoring the looks thrown my way as I search the white tablecloths for Johnny. “I’m looking for Mr. Cravotta.”

He’s a young guy, and handsome, if I recall correctly. He should be here. My father always talked about meeting him at this place. Then I spot him surrounded by two other men, and I take a determined step forward.

“Miss, you need an appointment with Mr. Cravotta.”

“It’s urgent,” I bark at her.

“You need an-what the fuck?”

I shove her skinny ass aside and barrel toward the table. Two guys I didn’t even see suddenly take my arms and shove me back before I’m even five feet from the table.

“Mr. Cravotta, please! I need to speak with you!”

Johnny looks elegant in his pinstripe suit. Every aspect of his appearance is immaculate. His hair is slicked back into rolling waves, without a wayward strand. There’s not a single piece of lint on his suit, or a wrinkle, or anything that would mar his image of perfection. He stares at me with daggerlike eyes. It was hard meeting his gaze, even though he always treated me with respect.

But I don’t find it hard to look at him now. He can’t say anything that makes me feel worse than I already do.

“Mademoiselle, you need an appointment.”

The hostess appears at his side. “Excusez moi, Monsieur Cravotta. Elle a-”

“I saw the whole thing. Relax.” He gives her a flick of his hand, and the extremely harassed hostess returns back to the front, giving me a dirty look.

“Please, sir, it can’t wait.”

The men surrounding him laugh as they look at my face, and amusement flashes over it briefly before a faint note of recognition finally glimmers in his eyes.

“You’re Jack’s kid.”

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